The Proposal

The air in Draco's flat was still thick with the tension from their fight. But this time, Harry wasn't sure what to make of it. The kiss had been everything and nothing all at once. It had felt like an explosion—an eruption of emotions neither of them had been ready for, but one that Harry couldn't seem to ignore, no matter how hard he tried.

They hadn't talked about it. They hadn't even mentioned it, which made the silence between them feel even heavier. Harry tried to focus on the things that didn't matter, like the piles of paperwork on the desk, or the unwashed dishes in the sink. But nothing felt normal anymore. Nothing felt like it could be put back into place, not with the way things had changed.

Draco was avoiding his gaze now, his back turned as he fiddled with a stack of books on the shelf. Harry's chest tightened, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. He didn't like the way things had been left unresolved. It made everything feel fragile, like they were walking on eggshells.

"Draco," Harry said, his voice steady but carrying the weight of everything he wanted to say.

Draco didn't respond. Not at first. He just kept flipping through the pages of the book in his hands, as if he hadn't heard Harry at all.

"Draco," Harry repeated, more forcefully this time. He crossed the room, his boots making soft thuds against the floor.

"What?" Draco snapped, his voice tight, almost too controlled.

Harry didn't flinch. "We need to talk about what happened."

Draco let out a short, bitter laugh. "Do we?"

"Yes," Harry said, his patience wearing thin. "You can't just—just pull away every time things get real. I'm not some bloody toy you can just put on a shelf when you're done with it."

Draco's eyes flickered with something, but before he could say anything, Harry rushed on, his words coming out faster now, like a dam breaking. "I'm trying here, Draco. You want me to give you space, fine, I get it. But don't pretend you don't feel something, too. You can't keep hiding behind your bloody walls and expect me to just—"

Draco slammed the book down onto the table, cutting Harry off mid-sentence. His breathing was ragged, eyes dark with something Harry couldn't quite place.

"Stop," Draco growled. "Just... stop talking."

Harry took a step back, stunned by the sudden shift in Draco's demeanor. He had never seen him like this—eyes blazing with anger, fists clenched at his sides.

"Why do you keep doing this?" Draco asked, his voice trembling with a mixture of fury and something else—something vulnerable. "Why do you have to keep pushing? I don't fucking need you to fix me, Potter. I'm not some broken thing you can just repair with your stupid fucking words."

Harry's chest tightened. He wanted to say something, anything to make Draco see that he wasn't trying to fix him, wasn't trying to save him, but the words wouldn't come. He stood there, frozen, watching as Draco's frustration boiled over.

"You want to know what I'm afraid of?" Draco spat. "I'm afraid that I'm going to get close to you. That I'm going to start fucking caring, and then you're going to pull away. You're going to leave me, just like everyone else does."

Harry's throat went dry at the rawness in Draco's voice.

"I don't want to be left behind, Potter," Draco continued, his voice quieter now, almost pained. "I don't want to be the one who's always fucking left standing there, wondering what went wrong. I don't want to be the one who's too much of a coward to admit that I might actually care about this fucking mess we're in."

Harry felt his heart twist at Draco's words. It was so much more than he had expected. So much more than the defensive, snarky, arrogant Malfoy who always kept everyone at arm's length. This was the real Draco, the one who had always kept his heart locked away, terrified of it being ripped apart.

"I'm not going anywhere," Harry finally said, his voice surprisingly steady. He stepped closer to Draco, meeting his gaze. "I'm not going to leave you. I promise."

Draco's expression faltered, and for a second, Harry could see the cracks in his walls—the vulnerability he had been so desperate to hide. But before Harry could say anything more, Draco turned away, his shoulders tense with restrained anger.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Potter," Draco muttered, though there was no bite to his words this time. He sounded more exhausted than anything.

"Why the hell do you think I would make a promise like that if I didn't mean it?" Harry snapped, frustration bubbling up once again. "I'm not trying to fix you, Draco. I'm just trying to—"

"Trying to what?" Draco cut in, his voice rising again. "Trying to fucking help me? You don't get it, do you? I'm not some charity case. I don't need your help. I don't need you to be some fucking hero. I need someone who isn't going to look at me like I'm some fucking project they need to save."

Harry's face burned with anger. "I'm not trying to save you, Draco! I'm just trying to be with you. For once, I'm just trying to be real with you."

Draco's eyes flickered with something like regret, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he looked away, the tension in his body palpable.

The silence between them felt unbearable, like a heavy weight pressing down on both of them. But this time, Harry refused to back down. He wasn't going to let it end like this. Not again.

"I'm not going anywhere," Harry repeated, his voice quiet but resolute. "And if you push me away again, I won't stop coming back. You've already got me, Draco. Whether you like it or not."

For a moment, Draco didn't say anything. His gaze was still averted, his jaw clenched tight. Then, with a deep sigh, he finally spoke.

"You don't understand," Draco murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to let you in."

Harry's heart sank at the admission. But he didn't say anything—didn't push. He just reached out and placed his hand on Draco's shoulder, feeling the tension there.

"We'll figure it out," Harry said quietly. "But I need you to trust me."

Draco stood still for a long moment, the weight of Harry's words hanging in the air. Finally, he let out a sharp breath and turned to face him.

"Fine," Draco said, though his voice was softer now, uncertain. "But don't think this means I'm giving up. I don't trust easily. You have to earn it, Potter."

Harry didn't reply. He didn't need to. Instead, he stepped closer, taking the hand that had been hanging limply at Draco's side, and pulled him into a kiss.

It wasn't like the others—not desperate or filled with anger—but it was raw and honest in a way neither of them had allowed themselves to be before. And maybe, just maybe, that was the start of something real.